The Secret of the Storm Country

Tessibel Skinner's flight left Ebenezer Waldstricker and Graves together on the ragged rocks. The bigger man turned and surveyed the other, scorn, anger and disgust struggling for expression in his face. The latter, paying no apparent attention to the enraged elder, leaned against an outcropping gray rock and fixed his gaze on the lake, noting mechanically the play of sunshine and shadow upon its dazzling bosom.

Through the elder's seething mind thoughts tumbled tumultuously. Could this moody, pale-faced man be the same nice young fellow that had married Madelene? How had he dared to marry her, and having done so, what had compelled him, after all this time, to acknowledge the Skinner brat?

He walked forward a step or two, coughed and began to speak. Frederick seemed not to hear him.

"I said," repeated Waldstricker, "I've discovered what I've suspected for four years."

Frederick allowed his eyes to rest an instant on his brother-in-law's dark, passionate face. Then, again, he turned his attention to the lake.

"And I don't intend to allow my sister to suffer by this," went on the elder.

"I suppose you'll tell her, won't you?" questioned the other, foreseeing unpleasant complications and already regretting the rashness that'd betrayed him.

"She won't learn it from me," promised Ebenezer.

"Nor from me," agreed Frederick. "I've no wish to have a whining woman hanging to my neck."

Waldstricker muttered an oath under his breath.

"Well, of all the contemptible pups in the world!" he snorted. "Talk of ingratitude! Here's a girl, a good girl, too, and Madelene's that--"

"No one said she wasn't," snapped Graves. "But her goodness doesn't keep her from nagging, my dear Ebenezer."

"Shut up!" snarled his opponent, the last atom of his patience exhausted by the speaker's flippant criticism. "You cur, you deserve a good thrashing, and I'm going to give it to you, now!"

Jumping for him, he lifted his arm to strike, but before the mighty fist descended, Frederick, outworn by his long walk and the excitement of the morning, slumped upon the rocks, a limp form at his assailant's feet. Stunned, the tall man gazed down at the crumpled figure, and mechanically lowered his arm. Then, he stooped, examined his fallen foe and stretched him out upon the rocks. Leaving him there, Waldstricker hurried to the lake and filled his hat with water, and returning, bathed the stricken man's face and neck. In a few moments, the faintness passed, and Frederick drew himself to a sitting posture against the rocks.

"You great brute! It's like you to strike a sick man," the white lips taunted, as soon as their owner could speak.